Storm outside howls
Inside flames burn
and lick the foundations
There is thunder in my veins, in my ears,
Oh God
must be

I roll ever so slightly, to
press my face down,
press my hips
in heated sheets smelling of
cologne and

your fingers pound rhythm of
rain-soaked windows—
outside drips wet
Inside fingers pressing
hot back

palms chase sweaty skin
I roll ever so slightly, sizzling
Hips find air
pressure drops down fast and

1 Comment

  1. Me says:

    Bocca baciata non perde ventura, anzi rinnova come fa la luna.

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